


Ficlet Collection

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Gift Fic, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, ficlets for followers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little stories under 1k that didn't feel significant enough to post separately. Chapter guide:</p><p>Chapter 1: "Naming Conventions", a follower giveaway ficlet inspired by the username sherlockisactuallyacatsname<br/>Chapter 2: "Unlikely Evidence", a follower giveaway ficlet inspired by the username petmycamel<br/>Chapter 3: "Engaged", a fluff ficlet in which Lestrade notices something shiny and new on Sherlock's finger<br/>Chapter 4: "Uninhibited", a 221b ficlet inspired by swishy drunk Sherlock in TSoT</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naming Conventions

**Author's Note:**

> Posting these as a multi-chapter work instead of a series so I don't clutter up my dash with a tons of really short ficlets. If the fic is a gift, the person it's for is named at the end of the chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter rated G.   
> Tags: humor, crack, fluff, Mummy and Father Holmes, Mycroft Holmes

“You said ‘Sherlock’ is a family name, right?” John asked, shutting the door firmly behind Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Their visit to 221B had been brief but terribly amusing from John’s perspective; watching Sherlock attempt civility for hours on end was the most entertainment he’d gotten all week.  
  
“Yes, awful family name. Mycroft has it worse, thankfully.”  
  
John had to agree with that. “Who are you named for, then?”  
  
Sherlock froze. His eye twitched. Then he leapt from his chair and dashed into the kitchen.  
  
John pursed his lips and followed.  
  
“Sherlock, you tracked down my birth certificate to find out my middle name. I think you owe me an answer after that. Who were you named for?”  
  
Clinking of graduated cylinders, knocking of tupperware. Squeak (cabinet open), thwack (cabinet closed).  
  
A muttered word.  
  
“What was that?” John hesitated, then went on. “If it was someone you’d rather not remember …”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, but wouldn’t look up.  
  
John waited.  
  
Silence.  
  
Then: “Cat.”  
  
John blinked. “What was that?”  
  
Sherlock huffed a dramatic sigh.  
  
“My mother had a cat when she was a child. I’m named for … the cat.”  
  
Silence again.  
  
The corner of John’s mouth twitched.  
  
Sherlock’s glare was ferocious.  
  
“Mycroft was named for a ferret,” he spat out, then fled the kitchen.  
  
John resigned himself to an evening of violin screeching.  
  
It was worth it.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [sherlockisactuallyacatsname](http://sherlockisactuallyacatsname.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


	2. Unlikely Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter rated T.  
> Tags: weird euphemisms, flirting, crack

“John, I need you to pet my camel.”

John groaned and refused to open his eyes. He’d been in the morgue for four hours, at the crime scene for an hour before that, and at work for nine hours before that. He’d only just dozed off.

“Is that supposed to be some sort of strange euphemism?” John grumbled, unmoving.

Then something wet hit his cheek.

John finally picked his head up. Blinked. Wiped the wetness—spit—from his cheek. Blinked again.

A camel stood sullenly next to Sherlock. Inside the morgue. Inside Barts. In England.

John looked around to verify his appraisal of the situation with the nearest sane human being. None were to be found.

“Quickly, John, the capture of this man’s murderer depends on your assessment of this camel’s wounds,” Sherlock said with a gesture to the body on the nearest slab. “Start with the right flank.”

“Where the hell did you even find that thing?”

“John, you’re being _boring,_ ” Sherlock snapped, and John sighed both internally and externally. He pushed back from the table and stood, ending up toe-to-toe with Sherlock, the camel hovering behind.

John looked up, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Sherlock leaned forward before he could ask, until his lips were right next to John’s ear.

“Did you … want it to be a euphemism?” he asked.

John froze.

A huff of warm breath ghosted over John’s neck when Sherlock backed away, a tiny smile on his lips. He patted the camel on the nose with something approaching fondness, and turned his back to John.

John closed his eyes for a moment and forced his breathing back to normal. Then he reached for a pair of sterile gloves and got to work.

‘Pet my camel.’ What would that even mean?

His brain helpfully supplied him with several options.

_Hm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for tumblr user [petmycamel](http://petmycamel.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


	3. Engaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter rated G.  
> Tags: fluff, fluff, more fluff
> 
> This is inspired by, but is in no way related to, the [Military Kink](http://archiveofourown.org/series/334252) series by SilentAuror. Just a little scene that lodged itself in my head after finishing the most recent installment. I highly recommend both this series and absolutely everything by this author. Every time I’m like, nah, there’s no way I’ll like this thing, I read it and it’s amazing, so. Read the things.

Sherlock is crouched over a freshly-dead body when Greg first notices it: an elaborately carved gold ring on Sherlock’s left hand, gleaming and new.

It glitters under the streetlights as Sherlock lifts the victim’s hand to inspect her nails and shirt sleeves. A sniff, then the magnifier, and cat-like stretches to reach without disturbing, the new ring a silent observer to Sherlock’s peculiar techniques. Greg is positive the ring hadn’t been there a few days earlier. They’d been at the pub following the successful resolution of the poisoning case, and Sherlock had picked up a scotch glass with his left hand—no ring, he’s certain of it.

Sherlock gets to his feet, paces around the body, his hands weaving as he explains his theory to the air. Greg knows he should be listening, but the light glints off the ring with every wave of Sherlock’s hand, so while he means to say _So what’s your theory?_ what actually comes out is, “Since when do you wear a ring?”

Sherlock carries right along with his prancing and sniffing, though a tiny smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Since I got engaged,” he replies, dropping to the ground to look more closely at the victim’s blood-darkened hair.

It takes a second for Greg to process, then a flood of shock forces the air from his lungs in a huff of laughter. “Since you _what_?” He spins, finding an amused John a few paces away, observing Sherlock’s performance. “John, you know about this?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, shrugging with his hands in his pockets. “‘Course I do.”

Greg knows his mouth is hanging open in that way that Sherlock loves to make fun of, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He shakes his head once, then again. “Would anyone like to enlighten me?”

“Of course,” Sherlock says, twirling to face him with a dramatic flourish of his coat. “Your victim has recently made his boss very unhappy, through no particular fault of his own. I would check the secretary’s car, and confront the boss in his office. If his office has red carpet, you have your man.”

Sherlock strides over to John and places his left hand on John’s chest, right over his heart, the ring a bright contrast to John’s navy blue jumper. One of John’s eyebrows is terribly amused by the proceedings, and Greg is at a total loss—until John’s hand comes up to cover Sherlock’s. John’s left hand. Sporting an identical ring. Sherlock murmurs something in John’s ear and they laugh, leaning their foreheads together, their eyes secretive and sparkling and incandescently happy.

John tears his gaze away from Sherlock’s sly mouth and holds a finger to his lips, meeting Greg’s astonished eyes. “We’re having a party to announce it this weekend. Saturday at seven. Don’t go letting on before then,” he says with a wink.

A warm rush of elation fills Greg’s chest, presses behind his eyes, and dear God it’s a good thing they’re trying to keep this quiet or he’d be crying at a crime scene. He wants so badly to ask a hundred questions, to laugh and hug them and shake them for taking so damned long, but he clears his throat and chokes it down.

“Congratulations,” he manages instead, throat thick and voice rough. “I’ll be there.”

They smile brilliantly, more at each other than at him, and turn to the curb to hail a cab. The ever-present magnetic pull between them has never been stronger, the effort to keep their affection from showing clearly visible in the lean of their bodies and the softness around their eyes. Greg can’t wait for Saturday, for the world to know what he’s known all along: that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong together, will _be_ together. They’re perfect for each other.

And they finally know it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


	4. 221b: Uninhibited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 221b (221 words, ends with a word that starts with b) written in honor of 2/21 and inspired by drunk Sherlock in TSoT.

“You’re different when you drink,” John said, catching himself on the arm of Sherlock’s coat as he stumbled over… nothing. Over his blood alcohol content, really. Sherlock covered John’s hand with his own under the pretense of assistance, but the slow finger he drew up the inside of John’s wrist rather gave up the game.   
  
“Everyone is different when they’re drunk, John,” he said. “Obviously.”  
  
John captured Sherlock’s wandering finger in the crook of his own, used it to pull Sherlock into him as he tripped up the stoop of 221B, his back to the door.  
  
“You, though,” he said. “You get more… swishy.”  
  
“More gay?” Sherlock said.   
  
John raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, John, John, John.” Sherlock pressed in close, dragged his lips along John’s jawline to purr: “I am always 100% gay.”  
  
“Mm. Yeah?” John breathed, savoring the tension, the _almost._   
  
Sherlock’s answering chuckle rumbled against John’s chest.   
  
“Can you imagine me in uni, John? Even _I_ went out and drank occasionally. Tight jeans, swaying hips. Played it extra camp. Meant I got plenty of practice at a certain skill you’ll be enjoying in the very near future.”   
  
John swallowed a groan and tugged at Sherlock’s curls until their lips were barely a breath apart.   
  
“And what skill is that, posh boy?” he asked.  
  
Sherlock smirked against John’s mouth.  
  
“Blowjobs.”


End file.
